


Lights Will Guide You Home

by sweetbutterbliss



Series: Wild One [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fights, Frottage, M/M, Painting, Redecorating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbutterbliss/pseuds/sweetbutterbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three weeks since Eames moved in. Three weeks of coming home to Eames and dinner, three weeks of waking up next to him, all morning breath and bed head. Three weeks of the best sex imaginable, more often than not twice a day. Occasionally three. Sex with Eames when they belonged to each other, and there was no one else or any sneaking around, was incredible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights Will Guide You Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [machocardie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/machocardie/gifts).



> Beta'd by [ Heather. ](http://theshorteststack.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Song title is from [ Fix You ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=trda5nHIZLo) by Coldplay. I read somewhere that this and The Scientist are two of the most used for fic titles. So I am jumping on the bandwagon. Also it's just a really pretty song. So there.
> 
> Gifted to Machocardie, cause it was her idea for it to be hard for them to live together no matter how much they loved each other.

It's been three weeks since Eames moved in. Three weeks of coming home to Eames and dinner, three weeks of waking up next to him, all morning breath and bed head. Three weeks of the best sex imaginable, more often than not twice a day. Occasionally three. Sex with Eames when they belonged to each other, and there was no one else or any sneaking around, was incredible.

This morning, Mal told him that he's scaring the other employees. 'Smiling too much', she said. There's been such an abrupt change from scowling, yelling Arthur, to almost-pleasant Arthur that it was a little too unnerving. So he makes it a point to snap angrily at the secretary as he's leaving, smiling as he gets a relieved sounding 'Goodbye Mr. Levine' in return.

He takes the subway home, imagining sliding in behind Eames at the stove and maybe blowing him until he burns dinner, talking him into getting take out instead. He's craving some shitty Chinese food, MSG and all.

He hums as he sorts through the mail, nodding absently at his neighbors in the elevator. A few bills, a postcard from Ari in Paris, and a letter for Eames from some gallery. He stares at the name neatly typed out; 'Rupert Eames' above his address. _Their_ address. Not a 'forward to', but Eames' honest to God full time address. He feels a mix of giddy pleasure and nervous fear. This is real, they're together, and everything is perfect.

Arthur is only going to mess it up. He's sure of it.

***

He lets himself in to the sound of Coldplay and all of its moody sadness. He frowns and unbuttons his coat; setting his briefcase by the door he finds his way into the living room and stops short.

All of his perfectly placed furniture has been pushed back against the floor to ceiling windows, and in their place are drop cloths, canvases, and an easel. Eames is dabbing at the canvas with his hands, his mouth scrunched to the side in concentration. Arthur almost forgets his indignation at how cute Eames looks, shirtless and covered in paint. Almost.

"What are you doing?" He moves over and switches off the stereo.

Eames stands up straight and smiles. He has a smear of yellow paint right across his cheekbones and Arthur has to fight the urge to wipe it off and lick him.

"Hello, love. I got inspired and decided to paint. I thought we could get take out. I've been craving Chinese food, but the terrible kind, with all the MSG." He makes sprinkling motions with his hands as though he's spreading MSG on his food.

"That's really great that you were inspired, but why are you in the living room?"

Eames looks around, confused.

"Where else would I do it, darling? The bedroom is a mite small, and your 'office' is full of all my boxes."

"I thought you were going to get a studio or something." Arthur crosses his arms.

Eames' eyes narrow, and he licks his lips.

"I am. But I can't bloody fight midtown traffic every time I need to paint. I have to have a place to paint. And you said I could use your office, but you haven't cleaned it out yet. "

"I was planning on it." Arthur pouts petulantly. So maybe it hasn't been three weeks of perfection, there's possibly a little bit of denial and fear of commitment mixed in. Maybe.

"Look, Arthur, you asked me to live here. _I_ was planning on getting a flat." Eames steps closer and tugs Arthur's arms down.

"Are you saying you don't want to live here then?" Arthur hates how small his voice sounds.

Eames huffs out a breath through his nose and grabs Arthur's chin in his hand. "I want to be here with you. But, darling, you have to make space for me. You have an office you don't use and still won't clear out for me. Bloody hell, you haven't even cleared enough room in the closet. It's hard to believe you want me here when I'm still living out of boxes."

Arthur sighs, chewing on his lip. He's silent for a long time, trying to get past the lump in his throat.

"I'm just scared. I can't lose you again. Maybe...I've been subconsciously pushing you away. Possibly." He shrugs, trying not to look at Eames.

Eames wraps him up in a hug, covering his dress shirt in blue and yellow paint. Arthur squawks but Eames refuses to let go, just clinging tighter.

"I'm here for you. End of story. Please give it a chance." Eames whispers against Arthur's neck.

Arthur nods minutely, and hugs Eames back, relaxing into it.

"Fine. We'll clean out the office tomorrow."

Arthur can't stay upset with Eames beaming at him.

"Right then, I'll wash up and then I'm taking you out for the finest, shitty Chinese we can find."

"What if I don't want Chinese?!” Arthur hollers after him, just to be difficult.

Eames just laughs as he shuts the bathroom door, and Arthur moves over to inspect Eames' work. He can't tell what it is just yet; it's just swirls of yellow and blue with a dot of red here and there. He tilts his head, to look at it from another angle, and almost has a heart attack.

He yells for Eames and is already on his hands and knees, inspecting right above the baseboard, when Eames comes tearing back in, struggling to untangle himself from his shirt.

"What the fuck is this?!" Arthur can't believe his eyes. On his beautiful, deep red accent wall, the one he had agonized over choosing a color for for months, had a bright swatch of almost dried yellow paint. He takes deep breath as he stands, glaring at Eames.

"Umm...paint?" Eames shrugs with a sheepish smile.

"It's almost dried, Eames!"

"Here, let me." Eames kneels down with a cloth and swipes at it furiously, only making things worse; spreading and smearing it into a large circle. Eames sits back on his haunches and 'hmmms.'

"Hmmmm? That's all you're going to say? I cannot _believe_ you did this, Eames!" Arthur throws his hands up.

"It's really not a big deal. We'll paint over it."

"You ruined it Eames! I worked so hard on how I wanted my home to look and you just come in and...and...ruin it!" Arthur is well aware that he might be overreacting, and he probably isn't even actually that mad about the paint, but he can't seem to stop himself. "You think you can just come in here and fuck shit up. Well guess what, that isn't going to happen."

Eames is standing perfectly still in front of Arthur, the cloth dangling from his fingers, and his jaw working.

"All I've done is fuck shit up? Is that what you're saying?" His voice hasn't risen at all, it remains at a quiet rumble. Arthur could probably spot the warning signs of Eames' impending meltdown; might even have be worried if he was paying more attention to anything other than his own paint fueled rage.

"There's the evidence, right there on my fucking accent wall."

"Fuck your poncey 'accent wall'. Do you know how much of a twat you sound saying that? Don't forget, I knew you when you were just a scared, scrawny little boy. "

"Fuck you." Arthur wonders how his plans for a quickie and take out have evolved into a screaming match. Or really, just him screaming at Eames who's managing to stay so fucking calm.

"Alright, fuck me. I ruin your shit? Let me show you 'ruin', you fucking bastard."

Before Arthur even has time to reply or react, Eames picks up a tiny can of paint and hurls it at the wall. It leaves an angry yellow question mark and a dent, while the can drops, splattering paint as it bounces across the hardwood floors. Arthur is speechless, he can't even fathom what's just happened. While he's working it through, Eames turns and flings another and another, leaving matching red and blue smears across the wall. He picks up his oils and starts squirting them at the wall and smearing them in with his hands. He throws it all to the floor, slipping a little in the puddle he's created.

"There. That's fucking better. Guess you can't avoid the fact that I'm here now." Eames is breathing heavily, and all Arthur can do is only swallow thickly.

"I can't believe you just did that." Arthur steps forward and touches the wall, his hands coming back covered in paint, mixed into a yellowish brown color. He turns, without a word, and smears the whole thing over Eames' face. Eames' look of shock, his eyes brilliant blue in all the dark paint, makes Arthur giggle a little. Then he giggles a lot, until he's bent over trying to catch his breath. He hears a growl before he's pushed over, landing right in the puddle that the red paint had made, and he still can't stop laughing.

Eames kneels over him and draws a few lines along Arthur's own cheeks, down to the crook of his neck. He presses his body down into Arthur and kisses him hard, all teeth and slick lips; something that feels a little angry, but is gradually melting into something else. Arthur fists his hand in Eames' hair and arches up against him, feeling that they're both hard, as they each gasp for breath in the other's mouth

Eames reaches between them and quickly unzips their pants, pushing them out of the way with sharp movements. He grips both of their cocks in his hands, smearing more paint between them. They're both so worked up and frustrated that it only takes a few minutes before they're coming hot over Eames' hands. Eames rolls off and lies on his back next to Arthur.

"I'm sorry I haven't made room for you." Arthur whispers after catching his breath.

"It's okay. I'm scared too you know. " Eames admits, tucking his arms back behind his head.

"Well, maybe we should try talking to each other, instead of pretending like nothing's wrong." Arthur mused.

"That sounds like a deal. I'm sorry about your 'accent' wall. Even if it is stupid and poncey." Eames mutters.

"That was the best apology ever. " Arthur moves up onto his elbow to survey the damage.

"I'll pay to have it re-painted, or better yet, I'll do it myself." Eames promises, mirroring Arthur's movements.

"I want you to paint it yourself." Arthur decides.

"I just said I would." Eames frowns unhappily.

Arthur leans over and brushes his mouth against Eames'. "No. I want you to do what you want. Paint it however you want. Make it yours."

"Really? What if it doesn't match your color scheme?"

"Shut up. I'm trying here." Arthur scowls back at him.

"You are the most adorable angry person I've ever seen."

Arthur lets out a loud jolt of laughter, and shoves Eames over. After a thorough scrub down in the shower, and maybe some more sex, they have their fill of Chinese food and fall asleep curled around each other.

***

That weekend they clear out the office and Arthur, complete with excessive moaning and complaining gets rid of enough of his suits to make room for Eames clothes. And by 'gets rid of', he means seals them into vacuum packed bags under the bed. Eames brings in ladders and more paint, and together they paint the whole wall clean white. Eames takes his time creating his own mural, and Arthur spends many nights cross legged on the floor with a bottle of wine, watching Eames at the top of a ladder, completely in his zone. It never fails to turn Arthur on, and they end up having paint covered sex on the floor several more times before the mural is finished.

"Maybe we should get carpeting." Eames suggests as he rubs his knees with a wince. Arthur laughs and pulls him in for a kiss.

"Alright, old man, if you want carpet...that's what you'll get."

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr! ](http://www.sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com) Feel free to prompt me, sometimes I need a little nudging.


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